


own soul

by fridgefish



Series: cowboy au [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU typical violence, Cowboy AU, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Prequel, Slow Burn, bed sharing, yes the fabled backstory of western waggle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fridgefish/pseuds/fridgefish
Summary: “You’ve been kind to me," Charlie said.“Wasn’t no reason to be mean.”“Wasn’t no reason to be nice, neither. You don’t know me, don’t even know my last name.” He said it without any bite, but it was true. “You don’t know anything about me.”It was Chris’ turn to be silent. He rubbed the side of the cow he’d been milking, who lowed softly. She was all done. He lifted the handle on his bucket of warm milk, and carefully picked it up so he wouldn’t spill a drop. “Maybe I’d like to know you,” he said, and walked with his pail back to the house.





	own soul

**Author's Note:**

> i had a lot of fun writing this and also it took me ten thousand years so sorry about that!
> 
> this is also a prequel to black gold, so you don't have to have read that but it'll probably make a little more sense
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Wagner!” Mrs. Fulton screeched out the back door. “There’s someone coming up the property!”

The plains were so wide and flat that as Chris jogged around to the front of the farmhouse, he could see the figure walking steadily towards him in the hazy distance even though he must’ve been a half mile away. So he waited, gun in hand, the wind making the edge of his shirt flutter as a sheet of red-brown dust obscured his vision for a moment. He was filled with a strange sense of joyful anticipation as the silhouette drew closer. It was just like his books from when he was a child- maybe this would be his visitor from a foreign land, or someone bringing good news, or a person of great importance. 

Three months had passed since he’d seen anyone besides the old couple who were letting him work for them as a farmhand. Mr. Fulton had only been to town once since he’d been hired, and he insisted that Chris stay behind to look after everything while he was gone. There were a few neighbors to the west, but they rarely came by to visit. The plains where they had settled were so vast and expansive that when Chris was out walking, sometimes all he could see in any direction were wide open fields. It was unsettling. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as the dust settled around his ankles. He could see clearly again and made out the face of the young man still steadily approaching. Couldn’t‘ve been more than a year or two different from him in age. He was thin, too thin, from what Chris could tell- his threadbare shirt hung off his shoulders like an oversized sheet. 

He could’ve been a haggard thief coming to steal everything they had. Or maybe a bandit, here to shoot up the farmhouse and laugh maniacally as he inhaled the smoke billowing out of his pistol. Worse, he could be some kind of territory official, demanding they pay some kind of inescapable tax. 

“Hey there!” Chris raised his arm in a shy wave, and the young man returned it immediately. 

“Hi,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You got any water?”

__________

Chris brought the young man into the house immediately, trying not to stare. He was tall, taller than him by a few inches. He did stare, just a little, as he grabbed the glass of water with both hands and greedily gulped it all down.

“My name’s Charlie.” He said, sticking out his hand to shake after using the back of it to wipe his mouth. 

“Chris.” 

Charlie nodded, looking around the farmhouse. “Your folks around?”

“They aren’t my folks, I work for Mr. and Mrs. Fulton.” Chris explained. “As a farmhand.” 

“They need any more help?” Charlie asked quickly, before stopping and sizing Chris up. “Not that you ain’t enough, of course.” 

The idea of having someone else to work with was so viscerally wonderful after the long and lonely months. Chris’ head swam. “Yes. Yes, they do. You’re here right on time.” 

Charlie smiled, the first smile Chris had seen from him. And unbeknownst to Chris, the first time Charlie had smiled in a long time. 

“Finally, some good news for me,” he said warmly. 

Mrs. Fulton came in not a moment later. “What’s the meaning of this?” she said, throwing up her hands. “What’s your business here?” 

Charlie’s face set like stone; and he straightened up, trying to make himself look taller. “Ma’am, I’m looking for work. I’m strong, I don’t need to be paid except for food and a place to sleep, I-”

“I already have a farmhand, don’t need another,” Mrs. Fulton said, not unkind but not exactly friendly, either. “You can move along.”

The three stood silently in the house, waiting for someone else to say something. Charlie still didn’t move. 

“I wouldn’t be any trouble at all. I just need to get my feet under me, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Mrs. Fulton smoothed the front of her dress. “There’s no place for you to sleep.”

“He could sleep in the barn,” Chris offered before he could stop himself. They turned to look at him, Mrs. Fulton shooting daggers and Charlie with raised eyebrows. “I mean.” He cleared his throat, unsure why he felt the need to take up for this stranger. “I could use the extra help since it’s nearly harvest.” 

“Yeah, I’m not picky about where I sleep,” Charlie nodded towards Chris. “I also noticed you’re growing some barley? My family used to grow that, so… I could help.” The last part came out very quietly. 

Mrs. Fulton had already said more words than she typically did in a week, and Chris could tell she was ready for this conversation to be over. “Fine. You can stay for now. But try any funny business and you’ll be gone from here. And I don’t mean the next town over. You understand me?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you. I won’t-”

“There’s horses that need tending to. Get to it.”

__________

The first week passed quickly.

That first day in the fields, Chris watched in vague concern as the back of Charlie’s neck got pinker and pinker. Finally, he went and dug out his spare handkerchief and tried to be as casual as possible as he handed it to Charlie. His face was blank with shock as he carefully tied it around his neck.

Charlie was quiet, but an extremely hard worker. He made sure to not do anything to upset anyone, and always complimented Mrs. Fulton on whatever she’d cooked for supper. Chris thought that was very smart of him. He didn’t ask any questions that first week, but wouldn’t answer any questions that Chris tried to pull out of him either. They were at a bit of an impasse there. He still didn’t know Charlie’s last name. 

He was pleasant to be around, though. He grinned at Chris’ slightest attention, and acted like he was especially pleased at the bed Chris had made up for him. It was only fresh hay underneath some quilts, hardly much, but it made Chris happy that he liked what he’d put together. 

It was a bleak Saturday morning when Charlie first asked about the family. They were out in the barn with the cows, and the only sound was milk hitting the bucket at even intervals. 

“Is the mister… is he alright?” 

Mr. Fulton was a mysterious man. He never smiled, rarely spoke, and spent most of his day shut in his room. When Charlie asked about him, Chris gave him the same speech Mrs. Fulton had given him nearly a year ago- how he’d immigrated from Germany but now his heart ached for his homeland so much that it took all the joy out of him. He used to be more help around the farm, but now he couldn’t even help his own self. 

“What about the missus?” he asked from where he was milking the cow next to Chris. 

“Well,” Chris began, wanting to say something nice. “She really is a great cook. You won’t stay hungry as long as you’re here.” 

“She’s grumpy though, ain’t she.” 

Chris looked up to see Charlie beaming. 

“She’s-” Chris started, but couldn’t hold his serious face and broke into laughter. “Oh shit, yeah. Really grumpy. You wouldn’t believe.” 

Charlie was laughing, too. “I’ve yet to see her smile,” he admitted. “I’ve been wondering what it would take.” 

“More than me, I suppose,” Chris said, “because that smile-” he pointed towards Charlie’s nearly ever-present grin- “is the first one I’ve seen since I don’t know when.” 

“I’ll have to put the charm on her,” Charlie sighed, pushing his fingers through his curls in fake vanity, turning his face this way and that. “Maybe she’d give us extra sweet bread.” 

Chris found himself thinking that he’d give Charlie extra sweet bread, if he had any. “You need extra, you’re so skinny.” 

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, because Charlie’s face darkened immediately and turned down towards his bucket. He tried to backtrack as quick as he could, not willing to let this conversation die. “But I mean, you’ve already been looking better just being here a few days. It’s been good for you, I think.” 

Charlie took a moment after that. “You’ve been kind to me.” 

“Wasn’t no reason to be mean.” 

“Wasn’t no reason to be nice, neither. You don’t know me, don’t even know my last name.” He said it without any bite, but it was true. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

It was Chris’ turn to be silent. He rubbed the side of the cow he’d been milking, who lowed softly. She was all done. He lifted the handle on his bucket of warm milk, and carefully picked it up so he wouldn’t spill a drop. “Maybe I’d like to know you,” he said, and walked with his pail back to the house.

__________

Charlie’s eyebrows flew to his hairline when Chris darkened the barn door with a thick quilt in hand. It was going to be cooler that night, Mrs. Fulton had said, so he figured Charlie might want another cover. He told him so.

“Thank you,” Charlie said, and Chris knew he really meant it. He just nodded, feeling shy all of a sudden. He turned to leave, but Charlie wouldn’t have it. “You done with your chores tonight?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Charlie was sitting on his pallet with the new quilt haphazardly thrown over his drawn-up knees. “My name is Charlie Coyle.” 

Chris sat down beside him.

“I’m from a place that doesn’t have any name ‘cause it’s so far from everything. I was born there. My parents were from Massachusetts, though, they told me that. They came out here when lots of people were moving out West. Said they quit travelling and built our place when my mom’s stomach started to get big with me, and we just never moved on.” Charlie took a breath, and then threw the side of the quilt over Chris’ legs before continuing. “Didn’t never have no brothers or sisters neither, I think something happened when I was born so that my mom couldn’t carry again. So you know, with just us three, we did our best, but we never had much. My Pa took what he could into town to sell, for a while we did pretty good selling some beaver pelts I shot. We always had a good life though, they loved me and I loved them, we were happy living on the land.” 

“Beaver pelts are so soft,” Chris added under his breath.

“Yeah,” Charlie smiled. “Real soft. My mom always got sad when I had to skin them, you know how it is.” 

Chris let a moment pass before curiosity got the best of him. “What happened to your parents?”

“They both caught the fever. Don’t know how. Don’t know how I didn’t get it. But my Pa didn’t last long, and my mom went right after him. I couldn’t stay there, after that, you know. I couldn’t tend that farm by myself, I’d starve. So I buried them and started walking.”

“And then you came here.” 

“And then I came here.” Charlie nodded.

The frogs were beginning to croak their nighttime song outside, and Chris let himself flop backwards onto Charlie’s pallet. “Is this the part where I tell you about my life?”

“I’m counting on it.” Charlie couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.

Looking straight up made him feel dizzy, so he let his eyes travel the plaid expanse of Charlie’s back instead. “I’m from Massachusetts, too. We left when I was still little, maybe ten or eleven, and came out here. I have a big family, I’m the youngest of five brothers and three sisters. We raised livestock, mostly, did some farming too. But I was never going to inherit anything, and I didn’t want to live with them my whole life, so after a few years I decided to try to make my own way.”

“And then you came here,” Charlie parroted.

“Yeah. And then I came here.” 

Charlie laid down next to him. “Did you like Massachusetts?”

Chris hummed. “Sure. It was nice. Really different from here, though.” 

“What do you miss the most?” Charlie was staring at him now, unguarded. His face took a different shape when he was relaxed, Chris noted. It was kind, and warm somehow.

“Definitely the music. All kinds.” That was an easy one. “I remember once, right before we left, my parents took the whole family to the opera.” 

“The what?”

“The opera?” Charlie didn’t recognize the word, it showed in his eyes. “It’s like… It’s like people are acting out a story, but instead of saying the words, they sing all the words.”

Charlie rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “They… _sing_ the words.” 

“Yeah,” Chris said, a little ruffled that Charlie wasn’t going with this. “It’s like-” he made up a winding melody- “_My name’s Chriiiis and the barn caaaat sounds like it has a hairbaaaalll._” 

Charlie just stared. “I don’t believe you.”

“Wh- What do you mean?” He shoved Charlie’s shoulder, and he went down easy, laughing. “You think I’d just make this shit up?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I think, cause you got this look on your face.” 

“Well I’m not making it up, you’re just not cultured.” Chris retorted, with an extremely unthreatening squint. “Can’t help that.” 

Charlie was done arguing about it already, even if it was mostly facetious. “Okay, we will agree to disagree. Tell me more about Massachusetts.” 

They stayed up nearly half the night talking, Charlie sharing about his parents and his half-wild upbringing, and Chris telling his enraptured audience of one about the finer points of city living. 

Chris didn’t remember falling asleep in the barn that night, but when he awoke, Charlie’s hand was resting on his heart. It made a strange feeling bubble in his chest, like a mixture of being lonely and loved. He swallowed it down as quick as it came.

__________

“Charlie,” Chris was shaking him furiously. “Wake up, I’m not doing all these fucking chores on my own.”

“_You_ kept me up late,” he mumbled from where he was still curled up on the pallet. He pulled the quilt over his head. “You did all those fucking chores on your own before I got here.” 

He wanted to kick him for that, especially considering they had such a pleasant night beforehand. Or maybe shove him out of bed. But Mrs. Fulton was sure to take care of him eventually. The cows couldn’t be kept waiting, so he finished getting dressed and walked out of the barn.

Sure enough, it wasn’t an hour later when he could hear Mrs. Fulton shriek something harsh at Charlie even from the chicken coops. There was some scrambling, and a clattering sound, and then he burst out of the barn with his overalls half-on, sprinting towards him with a mischievous grin he could’ve spotted a mile away. “She’s gonna kill me!” Charlie was shouting, but he was nearly doubling over with laughter, streaking towards him through the fields in bare feet. “Chris! Chris! You gotta help me,” he was absolutely breathless. “She’s got a pitchfork, she’s gone mad!” 

By the time Charlie had reached where he was working, Chris had gone half-limp with mirth, so he couldn’t fight back when Charlie threw him over his shoulder, still screeching about narrowly escaping death. He spun him around twice, completely ignoring Chris kicking and trying to get down. All the blood rushed to his head until he felt strange and started laughing just as hard as Charlie. 

“Put me down, you idiot, you’re gonna get me in trouble too,” Chris groaned. The sharp corner of Charlie’s shoulder was digging into his stomach and it hurt. He really needed to eat more. “What’d she say to you?” he said, as he was set down none too softly. 

“I have to pick up chips.” 

Picking up chips- the dried animal droppings that they used for fuel for their fires since wood was so scarce- was a pretty undesirable chore. “Well, it could’ve been-”

“Until they’re stacked to the roof.” Charlie finished, poking his bottom lip out. 

Chris was cackling. “You should’ve gotten up,” he teased, sing-song. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sing me an opera about it,” Charlie winked, and adjusted the strap on his overalls before heading out to the fields.

__________

“Mrs. Fulton,” he started hesitantly. He’d never asked her for anything in his life, afraid of being too needy or asking for too much and losing this job. And now wasn’t really the most opportune time, either, after Charlie’d gotten in trouble just a few days ago, but he’d already finished his punishment. Perhaps all was forgiven.

“What is it?” she asked, neutral. The fact that she didn’t sound angry was already a great sign; maybe it was because she was working on her quilt.

“Charlie is…” 

Great. He didn’t know how to say it without sounding strange.

“Is he bothering you?” Mrs. Fulton filled in, eyebrows raised. Chris didn’t know she would’ve cared one way or another about his well-being, so that was certainly a surprise. 

“No, no, quite the opposite. He’s good company, ma’am. I just think he’s still pretty thin, so I was wondering...” 

Mrs. Fulton nodded. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. Chris knew he was dismissed. 

That night at supper, Mrs. Fulton set down an extra bowl in front of Charlie with a clatter against the wooden table. Chris craned his neck to see what was inside- it was full to the rim with buttermilk, and sweet cornbread was crumbled down in it. 

“You’d better eat it all,” she said. Her words sounded fierce, but her face had no bite.

Charlie stared at her in shock for a moment before remembering himself. “Thank you, I really-”

“Don’t thank me,” Mrs. Fulton interrupted. 

And there, for a tiny moment, they both swore later that there was the smallest shadow of a smile on her face for a fraction of a second.

__________

Mrs. Fulton entrusted Charlie with Mr. Fulton’s old guns once he proved he was as good of a shot as he said he was.

He made up for his buttermilk consumption threefold when he started bringing in quail he’d shot in the field. Chris never got to go out with him because there was always too much to be done on the farm, but he could hear the gunshots and know exactly how many quail they were getting that night.

Charlie didn’t miss, and he never took a shot if he wasn’t sure. 

There was a certain swagger in his step when he’d return with a few birds, his hand wrapped around their limp throats, a certain proprietary look on his face when he saw Chris tear into them a few hours later, after Mrs. Fulton had them gutted and roasted.

“You want to see me shoot?” Charlie asked one slow afternoon, drumming his fingers on the revolver on his hip.

Chris set down his ax. “‘Course I do.” There’d been this easy teasing between them lately. “See you waste those bullets when you miss.” It was easy to get Charlie riled up: talk about his shooting ability, say something about the opera, mention something about him finally putting on weight. 

“I don’t miss,” Charlie said cooly, inspecting the action. “Here,” he picked up a piece of wood too gnarled to be used and tossed it at Chris. “Go set this up somewhere out there,” he instructed, gesturing broadly to the field in front of them. 

“Okay,” Chris agreed, already walking in that direction. “But when you shoot it, you’ve got to hit right here.” He tapped a dark whorl towards the top right corner. “Dead center. Or else I’ll call your bullshit.” 

“No problem,” he winked.

A few minutes, a single gunshot, and a puff of smoke later, Chris looked out at the board which now clearly had a single hole in it even from such a distance- right through the knot. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” 

Charlie was unbearably smug, and made Chris give an extremely weak apology for not believing in him. 

“C’mon, now you try,” Charlie goaded, holding out the butt end of his revolver to Chris. 

They were supposed to be back to work already, but the bright sun was making him feel drowsy and dumb, and messing around with Charlie’s gun was a lot more fun than splitting logs.

“You know I’m a terrible shot,” Chris replied with a smile, pulling back the hammer. Naturally Chris missed their makeshift target by a mile. 

They both jumped at the sound of someone yelling for them to get back to work from the house. “You just need practice,” Charlie said, a little too sweet, jutting his hip out to goad Chris into sliding the revolver back into its holster strapped there. This was a different kind of teasing they’d begun, different than just smack talk between friends. The kind of teasing where Chris would keep eye contact with Charlie as he slipped the gun back in its leather case and snapped the strap back in place. The kind where his hands lingered longer than they strictly needed to. 

Three nights later, Chris awoke as dawn was breaking to the sound of geese honking overhead. He shook Charlie awake, and thankfully he’d learned his lesson from last time as he scrambled to his feet. 

He ran outside with the rifle, took a single shot, and presented a fat goose to Mrs. Fulton who smiled from ear to ear. 

Chris wanted him to stay forever.

__________

Chris started sleeping in the barn with Charlie every night. He’d made up some excuse for Mrs. Fulton (which he’d already forgotten) about why he was no longer sleeping on his cot inside the farmhouse. Something about fresh air.

He’d grown to love staying up late and talking. Charlie’s playful arrogance during the day melted into open curiosity when the sun went down. He asked a thousand questions about everything- about the city, about snow, about his brothers and sisters. He quickly found out that Charlie never learned to read, so he started re-telling all of the stories he could remember reading at some point. Each one was new to him, and Chris lived for his reactions- his genuine gasp when Jack encountered giants at the top of the beanstalk was something to treasure. 

They’d talk until Chris fell asleep. Charlie never fell asleep before he did, but Chris assumed he always did right after. He slept so good next to Charlie. He was safe here, just him and his friend and the barn cat. Being close to him felt right. 

All their teasing during the day and stories during the night boiled over into a certain tension that Chris couldn’t quite put his finger on. It culminated one night when the temperatures dropped unexpectedly. He didn’t mean to shiver, but he did, unmistakably.

“Are you cold?” Charlie whispered from where he lay beside him. 

Chris was scared to say. If his answer was yes, really, he should go inside where he belonged. But maybe- maybe he wasn’t reading this wrong, the soft way Charlie was snuggled into his blankets, the soft way he asked. 

“A little,” was the safest answer he could think of. “A little chilled.”

Chris didn’t dare move a muscle when he felt Charlie shift behind him. His knees tucked behind his own, back to chest. His breath was hot and damp as he let out a slow, slightly shaky breath into his hair. Charlie’s arm was by his own side, probably testing to see if Chris would move away, but after a moment, he slung it over and rested his hand on his chest. 

“Is that better?” 

Chris put his hand over Charlie’s, a touch of reassurance. “Yeah. Much.” 

He tried to keep still, afraid that if he moved, he might scare Charlie away. But it didn’t take long for his breathing to begin to even out against the back of his head. 

Charlie’s hand moved and slipped down to his abdomen. His fingertips dragged along the soft skin there before stopping to rest again. This was more than being close, more than sleeping on the same pallet. This was a lover’s embrace. Every brush of Charlie’s body against him lit him up like he’d never been touched before. And in a way, he _had_ never been touched before, at least not like this. 

“Charlie-” he choked out. 

“Go to sleep,” he replied in a hurried whisper, like anything but sleep at that moment would break the spell.

__________

It happened soon after that.

“Chris!” Charlie shouted, jogging out to where he was standing in the fields. Chris looked up and immediately assumed the worst- they were on a pretty tight schedule, there was no reason for Charlie to be coming all the way out here unless-

“Hey, I got you something,” he said, winded, stopping for a moment to put his hands on his hips and breathe. This wasn’t that unusual, except for that Charlie usually brought him things at the end of the day. A flower, a smooth stone, a few dried grasses he’d braided together. 

“You got me-”

Charlie waved his hands furiously, cutting him off. “Hang on a sec.” He crammed his hand down the front pocket of his work shirt, and curled his fingers around something very carefully, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip in concentration. He cupped his hands together as soon as he had whatever it was out of the pocket, and then moved so that Chris could see through the small space at the top of his cupped hands.

It was a bullfrog. 

Chris burst into laughter, but tried to contain it to just a few giggles when Charlie looked hurt. “That’s real nice of you.” 

“Yeah, I caught him. To bring to you.” He was painfully sincere. 

“He’s very cute,” Chris said, and put his hands over Charlie’s to transfer the frog to his grasp. The bullfrog croaked in protest. “You should kiss him and see if he turns into a prince.” 

“What?!” Now it was Charlie’s turn to laugh. “What are you talking about?” 

Chris looked down at the little frog in his hands. He was smooth and was admittedly quite cute with his shiny black eyes. “There’s a story about a prince who was turned into a frog by magic, and he could only be changed back with a kiss.” 

Charlie screwed up his face. “Gross. I’d rather kiss _you_ than that frog. You don’t even want to know where I found him.” 

He knew that he was teasing, but the idea still made him feel almost lightheaded. “Maybe _I_ would turn into a prince,” Chris blurted before he could stop himself. 

Charlie’s face went blank for a moment, like he realized what he’d just said. Then there wasn’t any time to think before he leaned in and kissed him, just once, just enough to feel it and never forget that moment for the rest of his life. 

“It worked.” Charlie said solemnly. “You’re a prince.” 

Charlie left him speechless as he turned and walked away back to whatever chores he was working on previously. 

He could still feel the shadow of the kiss on his lips, and he couldn’t help but lift his hand and press his fingers into his bottom lip. He decided in that moment that he desperately wanted to be kissed again. But only if Charlie was the one doing it.

__________

“About earlier,” Chris started, as he spread the blanket out on their pallet. _Their_ pallet. God.

“Yeah?” Charlie said, somehow acting completely unaffected. 

He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t. Not with the way that Charlie looked at him, not with the way that Charlie looked. He wanted Charlie to hold him, to kiss him again, almost more than anything. But asking for it would’ve been crossing a line somehow. He kept making up their bed quietly, hoping that he’d let it go.

Once he had the blankets all laid out, Charlie crawled underneath and looked up expectantly at Chris, waiting for him to blow out the light and settle beside him.

He was tentative as he slid into his side of the pallet, waiting for Charlie to say something else, anything. This was usually when they were the most talkative, but tonight there was nothing but silence. Even the barn cat had nothing to say. Chris had nearly fallen asleep by the time Charlie decided to speak.

“Did you like it?” he murmured. 

“What?” Chris had heard what he’d said perfectly fine. He just couldn’t-

“Did you like it when I kissed you?” 

There wasn’t any way he could lie to him while they were in this intimate space. “Yes.” 

Charlie put his arms around him, brought their faces close together. Everything was buzzing, the air felt like it was crystallizing around them. “Could I do it again?” He asked gently, his voice no more than a breath.

“Please, would you?” Chris said, the plea spilling out of his mouth before he could think. Charlie didn’t keep him waiting, he was ready as soon as he was given permission.

Chris got lost in the kissing, melting in the feeling of their mouths meeting and parting. Everything was slow as molasses, as sweet as honey. All the tension left his body, and a different kind of peace like he’d never known before came over him. This was it, he thought, as Charlie curled his hand around the back of his neck, this was the feeling that made people do crazy things, like run away, or promise to be together forever. 

Later, he couldn’t remember when they stopped kissing and when he fell asleep.

__________

Chris expected everything to change after that night. Everything _had_ changed, in a way.

The chores were still the same, the routine was still the same, he still fell asleep tucked up against Charlie every night. There was very little variety in their lives- most of the animals stayed on a strict schedule, and everything else was fit in between feeding times the best they could. 

But now, in stolen moments out of sight, Chris could tug at Charlie’s hair and run his fingertips across his forearms and kiss the nearest part of him. It was a privilege that never lost it’s magic. 

Every Sunday, Mrs. Fulton would have him read from the Bible with Charlie in required attendance. Chris had been taught the stories since he was a child, but just like with most of the other fairy tales, it was all new to Charlie. They were in 1 Samuel now, in the middle of the story of King David before he took the throne. 

Charlie liked to stand over him while he read sometimes, his hands on his hips. The large family Bible had a few illustrations, and there was one depicting David defeating Goliath with just his sling. David was wearing clothes made of sheepskin, and he was standing triumphantly over the body of the comically huge Goliath. He had a single red dot on his forehead from where David had struck him with a stone and killed him with a single blow.

The image was haunting, somehow. 

“I think I like this story we’re reading now,” Charlie had told him a few nights ago. “It’s starting to get more interesting.” 

Chris could only nod. 

Two Sundays later, they were late coming back to the house after their evening chores because they’d gotten caught up kissing in the barn. They hurried inside, and when they were questioned why they were tardy, neither of them answered. Charlie looked at Chris with wide eyes, wanting him to make something up, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to make up a convincing lie on the spot. 

They took their places. Chris sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, the flames heating his already heavily flushed cheeks. The only sounds in the room were the gentle click of Mrs. Fulton’s knitting needles, the crackle of the fireplace, and the soft scrape of a brush that Charlie used on Mr. Fulton’s boots. 

“Read to me,” Ms. Fulton demanded, as usual. 

He could feel Charlie’s eyes on the back of his neck, could feel where his lips had been only moments before. There was a tension in the air- an absence of chatter, a guilty look on both of their faces, or maybe it was all in his head. Surely there would be no way to tell that-

“I said read to me, boy.” She’d never had much patience with him. 

Chris cleared his throat and turned so that his back was to the fireplace. He pulled the heavy Bible into his lap and flipped to where he’d left off.

“And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” 

Charlie looked up from the boots.

“And Saul took him that day, and would let him go no more home to his father's house. Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul.” His voice faltered at the end of the verse. “And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle.” 

Chris found Charlie’s eyes before glancing away. It was too much to try to look at him now- sitting so close, wearing his clothes that he’d given him. 

He finished the passage without much more trouble, but the unsettled air in that small room didn’t dissipate. Charlie was being way too quiet. He usually had something to say, or he’d try to make some kind of joke with Mrs. Fulton and have it fall flat on the ground. Chris willed him to say something, but he just sat staring at the boots like they were the most interesting things in the world. When he looked up, Mrs. Fulton was staring at him like he had truly lost his mind. 

“If you’re finished reading, make yourself useful.” Mrs. Fulton snapped, effectively dismissing him to stumble out of the front door. 

Chris stood out in front of the house, his hands on his hips and his eyes to the sky, and allowed himself to breathe. The words he’d just read bounced around in his mind. _Loved him as his own soul…_

There were a billion stars, dazzling in every way. Staring up at them alleviated the weight of his adoration for Charlie if only for a moment. Everything was so new and so tender that he didn’t know what to do with it all. David loved Jonathan. And he-

He couldn’t finish his own thought, not even in his mind. 

They went to bed quietly that evening, both of them tiptoeing around each other like they had that first night they’d kissed. Charlie cupped his face gently in his hands. It was such a dark night that Chris couldn’t see a thing. 

“Which one am I?” he asked, not more than a whisper. 

Chris moved to put his hands in his curly hair, but missed and found his ear instead. “What do you mean?”

“In the story. Am I David or Jonathan?” 

Chris’ chest hurt. “You’re Charlie.” 

“But in the story-” his hands tightened “-who would I be in the story?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” He wished he would let it go. “You can’t be- The story doesn’t end there.” 

Charlie rubbed Chris’ bottom lip with his thumb, just enough so that he couldn’t help but relax. Then he sighed and leaned in and kissed him so softly that he could barely feel it. The barest pressure. Chris desperately wished he could see his face, to guess what was going on in his mind. “It’s just for fun, darlin,” Charlie said finally. 

Chris hummed. “Fine. For fun only. You’re David.” Even if he couldn’t see it, he could feel Charlie smile. “Because I gave you my clothes.” 

“And because I could kill Goliath.”

He thought of that picture again, the young David standing over the lifeless- 

“Sure. That too.” 

Charlie wrapped his arms around him and held him for a long time, long enough that Chris figured they were done talking for the night. That is, until Charlie suddenly squeezed him tighter and rolled so that they were laying on their sides, looking at each other in the blue moonlight streaming through the window of the hayloft. 

“Jonathan.” Charlie said, expectantly. 

“No,” Chris answered, laughing, going to sit up, but Charlie reached out and touched his shoulder. He settled back into the blanket. “No, we’re not going to-”

“I’m David, and you’re my Jonathan,” he continued, so very vexingly. His hands started to wander, and Chris knew he was smiling. Absolutely delighted to have found something that annoyed him just a little bit. 

“You are not David, I’m not going to-” 

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” Charlie murmured against his neck. “I guess we don’t know if David knew what this was like.” He started kissing further down, and then along his collarbone. 

Charlie turned them over gently, so gently, so that Chris was beneath him. They’d put fresh straw beneath their blankets, and Chris turned his head to smell it. It was sweet. 

“And I’m sure Jonathan wasn’t half as kind, or half as strong-” he was busy unbuttoning Chris’ shirt now, “-half as smart, or funny.” He pushed the flannel shirt off of Chris’ shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up. 

“Charlie-” he started in an unconvincing attempt to get him to stop. 

God, he didn’t want him to stop.

It felt like he was being lit up from the inside, like a fire was burning down in the pit of his stomach. He grabbed Charlie by the nape of his neck and hauled him down for a kiss, slow and deep, and the warm pressure of his tongue against his own made his toes curl.

“I hope he knew what that feels like.” 

It was like a dam was broken, after that. They both scrambled out of their clothes and held each other close, revelling in the feeling of skin against skin. 

“What do you want,” Charlie asked him breathlessly, “just say what you want.” 

“I want you to lie with me.” _Want_ didn’t seem like a strong enough word for the emotions he was feeling. 

“Okay,” Charlie took a deep breath, and let Chris bury his face in his neck. “Okay, I got you.” 

Chris couldn’t bring himself to watch whatever he was going to do just yet. He clung to his chest and mouthed along his jawbone, finally settling so that his nose was in the hollow of Charlie’s throat. Here it was easy to pretend nothing else in heaven or hell existed except for the two of them in this exact moment. 

Charlie was gentle with him, like he always was. He turned his head to kiss Chris again, slow and languid, before curling over him and bracing a hand on his shoulder. 

Chris felt him thumb over his hip bones with a kind of reverence. He couldn’t help but watch as Charlie finally let his eyes fall on the space between his legs, looking him over before coming back up to kiss him again, almost shyly. 

“You can touch,” Chris said, a plea disguised as permission. “Please.”

Charlie took him in hand, and after a few experimental strokes were met with Chris’ halfway bitten-back groans, he lined up their hips and took them both in hand. They were so worked up that after a few rough and graceless thrusts, they both reached their pleasure. 

Charlie rolled off of him, and Chris immediately moved to lay right beside him, still breathless. 

“That was nice.” he said, finally breaking the silence. It made Charlie laugh this kind of bubbling giggle he’d never heard from him before.

“Just nice?” Charlie teased.

Chris turned to look at him and couldn’t help but reach out and touch his lips, still hot and just a little swollen from kissing. “Maybe with some practice, you know…” 

“Oh shut up, you loved it,” he laughed, poking Chris in the ribs.

__________

Some days Chris thought that maybe they were going crazy. They played this game- well, he hated to say it like that. To say “a game” sounded like they were children. But in a way, this was a childish game. There weren’t any rules. They never discussed it.

Chris would hide somewhere in the barn if he beat Charlie back from the fields, and he’d wait until Charlie got as close as possible before jumping out with a yelp. Charlie would get scared every time, stumbling and sometimes screeching out a strangled scream. Then he’d drop anything he’d have in his hands, visibly regroup, and get a dangerous glint in his eye that Chris loved.

He’d lunge, and Chris would inevitably escape his grasp. He would dash away from him, turning a corner too fast on the loose straw in the barn and wipe out. He’d scramble to his feet and start running, because he knew that Charlie was always right behind him. 

Really, he wanted to be captured just as much as he dreaded it, and in the space of the game, conflict thumped inside him. He knew that Charlie would never hurt him. But sometimes, when they were inside the game, he really was scared, somehow. He’d always let himself get caught eventually, and Charlie would grab him, toss him onto the bed, and pin him down until his breathing evened out again. Then the game was over. They went back to whatever had to be done.

It wasn’t a game that needed dissection, but Chris knew good and well what it all was. They cared for each other as much as ever, but as the weeks burned on and bled into months of monotony, there was a need to feel _something_. And this was a way to feel many things, and feel them intensely in this fictional crisis they created.

__________

There were never days when they didn’t have chores or work to do, but Mrs. Fulton was much more lenient on Sundays. They’d finished all their morning duties and Chris asked very nicely if he and Charlie could walk to the creek to gather some wild potatoes and onions and whatever else they could find.

She was in a good mood. Mr. Fulton had joined her in the living room for the afternoon, and so she agreed as long as they returned by dusk.

It was about an hours’ walk one way, but Chris didn’t mind it. Charlie was in one of his goofy moods, and he was great entertainment. They’d left their shoes in the barn, and there was a blustery wind blowing across the prairie that made them feel giddy. When a strong gale would pick up, Charlie would start running and look back at Chris with wild eyes, talking about how he was going to fly away.

Chris felt like he might be falling in love. 

Once they reached the creek, Chris dug for about an hour before he got tired of it.

Charlie was still squatting on the riverbank digging up wild potatoes. Or at least, he was, until Chris stripped down to wash himself off in the water. He wasn’t sure if he was really getting clean, considering how murky the river water was. It felt nice to rinse off, in any case. “Are you watching me?” Chris asked.

“Yes,” Charlie answered honestly. He was staring openly, resting back on his heels next to his pile of potatoes. His face glowed pink, and his blush travelled down to his blotchy bare chest. He stood up to walk closer, stepping carefully on the bank criss-crossed with uneven tree roots. “S’only fair, to have some entertainment while I dig, since my other worker quit on me.” 

“I’ve dug up twice as many as you,” Chris retorted. It was true. 

“I can’t help that I’m not a magical potato finder. I just kill people named Goliath, remember?” Charlie was enjoying himself, and Chris knew what he wanted. 

He could be shameless out here, far from the farmhouse and far from any living soul but Charlie. When he stood, the water only came up to his knees, and he didn’t make any effort to cover himself as he brought up another handful of water and poured it on his own head. “Yeah, if you’re a killer, then I’m an opera singer,” he laughed, and then stretched, hands to the sky, just to see Charlie turn red again. 

“You’re the killer,” Charlie said, almost reverent. “You’re killing me, here.” 

“Well I can’t have that,” he laughed, slowly walking out of the water towards Charlie. He was dripping from head to toe, but Charlie didn’t hesitate to take him into his arms.

He was finally filling out after all those extra bowls of buttermilk. His body no longer had the sharp edges it once had when he first arrived. He was muscle all over, but soft where it counted. 

Chris felt wonderfully romantic, like maybe all those weeks ago he really had turned into a prince. The bubbling brook behind them and the honeysuckle vines clinging to the trees made the air sweet as candy. There was something about being here that made him feel bold. 

Chris knelt down onto the moss in front of Charlie.

There was a time, once, a long time ago, when Chris had been sent on an errand, and on his way, he’d seen one of his older brother’s classmates and his sweetheart behind the schoolhouse. She had been- well, she was kneeling like he was now. And she had been pleasing him with her mouth. Now, Chris wanted to do that for Charlie, to make him make the same faces and sounds that his brother’s classmate made that day. He’d been thinking about it for a long time. 

He did more kissing and licking than he was supposed to, probably, because after he’d gotten Charlie all the way hard (which didn’t take much), the idea of putting his whole-- of putting it all in his mouth seemed more daunting than he’d imagined. 

Charlie whimpered and shook underneath him, his hands wandering until they finally rested his still-damp hair. “Chris,” he panted, “I need to-” 

“Yeah, yeah-” Chris put his hand on him. “-go ahead.” 

Charlie finished into Chris’ palm with a groan. 

Chris clambered up from his knees, grabbed one of Charlie’s hands and guided him to where he needed it. He put his thumb on Charlie’s cheekbone, bringing their faces nose to nose. He felt like maybe he should say something- looking into Charlie’s eyes, pleasuring each other out here in the open like this. By the time he’d thought of something, though, he finished with a shuddering breath. 

He turned and slipped back into the water before Charlie was finished collecting himself.

__________

Two weeks later, a rider came up to the house around midday, one of those Pony Express boys who looked way too young to be out all alone with nothing but a pack and some pieces of parchment.

Mrs. Fulton read the letter aloud at supper. She and Mr. Fulton were to go to a town not too far from where they lived to attend the wedding of her nephew. 

“I expect you two to stay behind and tend to the home and the farm,” she said, half instruction and half warning. 

Chris’ mind was already racing at the prospect of being alone in the house with Charlie for at least a few days. He glanced over at Charlie who was clearly trying hard to remain carefully neutral, but his sparkling eyes gave him away.

“Yes ma’am,” Chris said without thinking. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ve got it all covered. You two just have a safe trip.” 

Mrs. Fulton nodded. “I trust that you’ll behave yourselves.” 

Chris watched Charlie blush. “Yes ma’am,” he answered. “Like he said, you don’t gotta worry about a thing.” 

They continued eating in silence, but Chris kept stealing furtive glances at Charlie, trying to communicate through wided eyes what good news this was. If they were careful, they could sleep in the bed, he bet. They could go down to the river again. Maybe they could-

Charlie cleared his throat. “About how long will you be gone, do you think?” 

“Six nights,” Mrs. Fulton replied crisply. 

They both nodded, and Chris could see the gears turning behind Charlie’s eyes. 

She looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

__________

He wasn’t sure what he thought it would be like, watching the Fultons disappear into the hazy distance, the dust from the wagon wheels lazily settling back down behind them. He stood next to Charlie out in front of the house for a long time, standing and staring out until they were completely out of sight. Then, without warning, Charlie turned to him and cheered, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a wet kiss.

“I’m gonna kiss you so much, you don’t even know,” he laughed, and pulled him back inside. 

After two nights had passed, Chris suggested that they move inside the farmhouse. Charlie agreed more readily than he anticipated, but maybe it was because they already agreed that one of the chores they’d do was wash the blankets. Sleeping together in the bed made everything new again. 

It made all the aspects of the way he felt about Charlie so suddenly filled out and real. When everything was in secret, hidden away, it was easy to keep their relationship to the back of his mind when he needed to. Now, as he cooked their supper and kissed him good morning and clung to his side at night and whistled at him in the middle of the day, it made him wonder about what was next for them. If they could stay here forever, eventually take over the Fultons’ farm. Not… get married, exactly, but… Charlie could be like a husband to him. One day. 

He wanted to bring it up, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. It was their fifth night without the Fultons when he decided that at supper, he would try to talk about the future. 

Charlie beat him to it.

“I been thinking about going to town to look for work when the Fultons come back,” Charlie said conversationally, stirring around the eggs he had sizzling in a skillet. 

Chris was incredulous. He felt like he’d just been hit over the head with a shovel. All his mental plans were already perfect. To change anything would be unthinkable. “You already have a job,” he said, stating the obvious. 

“I mean, a real job.” Charlie glanced over to him. “One that gets a paycheck, something to live on.” 

“We got plenty to live on here,” he said, trying to bite down his temper. “I thought you liked-” his voice trailed off and betrayed him. “I thought you liked living here with me.” 

Charlie set down his spoon. “Oh darlin’, you don’t understand, I’m not trying to leave _you_, I’m tryin’ to…” He couldn’t find the word. “I’m trying to _provide_ for us. See, eventually we ought to move on from here, you know? Start saving up.”

He didn’t hardly know what to say to all of that. Trying to _provide?_ What was that supposed to mean? Charlie already did that with all the fowl he shot, with- with everything, really. And saving up for what? Chris had never been struck with the desire to buy anything while he’d lived there. Well, he did miss his books, but-

“You know I only ever meant to stay here a week or so,” Charlie continued, pulling him from his thoughts. “But then I met you, and well. My plans changed.” 

“We have a good life here, Charlie,” Chris said, entirely more emotional than he wanted to be. “And you know with the way Mr. Fulton has been recently, it’s like everything here is our own. We’d have to start all over somewhere else.”

“Maybe it’d be good to start over,” he countered, sliding the eggs onto two plates. “Be with more people.” 

Chris’ chest constricted. Maybe it could be good for them to be with more people. But they were both still so young, he wasn’t sure if they’d be able to live together right away. Plus- “What about the Fultons? They’re getting on in age, who’s gonna take care of them if we go?” 

“They’re not your folks. They’ll figure it out. You know another farmboy will come along this road before much longer.” 

“I just want you to think through what you’d be giving up if you left.” Chris said, willing himself to not get any more angry than the thought already made him. Getting angry with Charlie never got him anywhere.

Charlie stepped to where Chris was standing with his arms crossed. “I ain’t giving up on you. That’s not what I’m saying.” He leaned down and kissed him until the hard creases between his eyebrows melted on their own accord. “Let’s just wait till the Fultons get back and see what news they bring from town.”

__________

Twenty nights passed, and the Fultons didn’t return.

Chris truly hoped that they’d just decided to stay with their relatives. The more likely explanation was unimaginable. 

Charlie kept working just as hard as ever alongside Chris, and there was always a lot to be done, but the work was manageable. They were making it work. 

He began to feel more and more like this land was theirs. The wide open blue sky, the fields that went on and on and on. Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait to inherit the land, if that was somehow an option. Maybe it could just be theirs.

Chris started looking around in drawers for some kind of a deed, or paperwork. He couldn’t find anything. No one would be able to dispute their claim. 

Charlie made love to him that night, so sweet and slow that it made his eyes wet. Surely this was everything he’d ever wanted, to have Charlie and to have this land. The whole future was cracked open like an egg in front of him- sunny and bright.

But nothing lasts forever.

__________

Another ten nights passed without incident.

On the night of a full month since the Fultons originally left, Chris awoke with a start. 

“Charlie,” he whispered furiously. “Charlie wake up, I hear something.” 

It was pitch black dark inside the bedroom. He couldn’t even see his hand in front of his own face, and there was a distinct scratching coming from the other room.

“_Charlie,_” Chris shook him awake. “Listen.” 

The scratching turned into rustling, and something was knocked over with a crash. It was either a large animal or a person. At least one, maybe more. 

He couldn’t see Charlie, but he reached for his arm, grabbing it and pulling it to his chest. Chris’ breath came faster, panic setting in. 

The sounds drew closer, and Chris could hear muttering and distinct footsteps. Someone had definitely broken in. 

“Ch-” Charlie clapped his hand over Chris’ mouth, and reached out with his other hand for something on the bedside table. His blood turned to ice, and his heart was palpitating like a rabbit’s in his chest. It was deafening in his ears, but not enough that he couldn’t hear the sound of a hammer being pulled back on a revolver. 

The wooden floorboards creaked, and Chris knew that the intruder was in the room even though he still couldn’t see a thing. 

Suddenly, Charlie lurched forward and fired his pistol- a shot so quick and so close that it was just pressure against Chris’ ears. He wasn’t sure if he screamed, but some amount of time passed before he became aware of Charlie shoving him off of his own chest.

He couldn’t move from the bed. It was like he was paralyzed underneath the covers. He watched Charlie get up and turn up the lamp and then crouch over the body now laying on the floor of the bedroom. He watched in the same way that the stars watched the earth below- every single detail was there, but he couldn’t create a thought. 

Charlie stood up now, and Chris was shook from his stupor as he realized he’d seen this image before. A young man stood triumphant over another, with a single red spot in the perfect center of his forehead. 

“_What have you done?_” Chris hissed the moment he could form words. 

Charlie looked over at him. “He was going to kill us, Chris.” He was sickeningly calm. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d-

“Is he dead?”

“Are you joking?” Charlie half-laughed. “Of course he’s dead.” 

Only then did he see just how scared Chris was. “Oh darlin-” he started, taking a step towards him, but Chris recoiled involuntarily. 

“You couldn’t have known- we _still_ don’t know- what if he was here to-” 

“Look at him, Chris.” Charlie interrupted. “He’s strapped up- he’s got a gun just about everywhere you can put one. Expensive boots, expensive vest.” He went back to the body and looked inside the satchel he had on his side. He nodded. “This guy has six different wallets in a bag. You know any normal person who does that?” 

Chris thought it was very likely that he was going to pass out. “You couldn’t have known all that when you took the shot.” 

“I heard him prime his gun. That was enough to know.” 

Chris shook his head. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“What was I supposed to do? Lay there while he put a cap in your head?” Charlie asked, incredulous. “Is that what you wanted me to-”

“Can you just give me a second here?” Chris cut him off. He kept glancing down at the body on the floor. The blood was starting to stain the wood around his head. “Can we at least… take him outside, or something?”

“Chris.” Charlie sighed. “The coyotes-” 

Right. The coyotes. And there was blood. 

“Then… I’m going to step outside.” His heart was still thrumming. “Get some air.”

He would never find out what Charlie did those two hours he stood outside, looking out at the silvery moonlit horizon. He would think about it for years later, how he wasted their final hours together staring at nothing. How they should’ve gone to town looking for the Fultons after that sixth night passed. In the future, Chris would wonder what would’ve happened if he would’ve let Charlie keep sleeping. But now, he didn’t have time to consider any of that, because there was the sound of thundering hooves in the distance as dawn broke on their prairie home. 

He turned to go inside and tell Charlie, but he opened the door before he could put his hand on the handle. 

“You think it’s more trouble?” Chris asked.

Charlie shrugged. “S’either more trouble, or someone coming after him.” 

“I think I’ll hope for the latter.” 

“Good call.”

__________

His name was James Perlman. He was tall and thin, with greasy black hair and a gold tooth. He’d come from town, on the tail of the guy Charlie’d just shot.

The dead man was a wanted criminal. Wanted dead or alive.

And the reward was five hundred dollars. 

“You’ll have to come to town to collect your reward,” James Perlman said, talking fast. Charlie had let him in the house; Chris didn’t want him inside. The three men were standing in the bedroom, and Perlman confirmed that this was indeed the thief he was after. 

It was painfully obvious that he and Charlie had been in the same bed, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. “Your brother can stay behind and take care of the farm while you’re gone,” he continued, speaking to Charlie as if Chris wasn’t there. “Does that sound alright? I’ll give you a ride.” 

“Sure,” Charlie said, shaking Perlman’s hand. “Sounds great.” 

“Alright,” he said briskly, “Well, I’ll just get this fella out of here for ya and let you pack up.” He commenced to dragging the dead man out of the room, leaving Chris and Charlie alone again.

Charlie didn’t even look at him. He turned, grabbing something off of the dresser and wrapping it in his handkerchief.

“Charlie. Listen to me. Look.” Chris started. He felt like he was inside a terrible dream. “Don’t go. I don’t care about the money. We don’t need it.” 

“You’ve let this place get to you,” Charlie interjected. “Everyone needs money. This would be life-changing for us. We wouldn’t have to leave, but we could invest it into the farm, maybe get some more oxen-”

“I don’t trust that man, I don’t know what’s going on in town, and you know the Fultons never came back so-”

“So what? You know they probably wanted to abandon this place anyway. Neither of them hardly ever even worked on it anymore.” Charlie said, like he knew this all for sure.

Chris was mad, now. “You don’t _know_ that. You don’t know what happened to them. You don’t know that… that Perlman guy isn’t gonna just kill you the moment he gets a chance.” 

“He won’t be able to.” Charlie said. He was smiling, that _bastard._

Chris wanted to say something about his arrogance, or his stupidity, but all he could think of in this moment was that he really did think he loved Charlie. The real kind of love. “Don’t go. I have such a bad feeling about it, Charlie, please.” 

“I’ll be back in five nights. Just going to get the money, and I’ll be right back.” His face softened. “I don’t want to leave you, okay? I just think it would be dumb not to go get the money that’s mine.” 

Five nights alone in the house.

He could do that, probably. It would be a lot of chores.

“At least kiss me before you go.” Chris whispered. Charlie complied with no hesitation, tilting Chris’ chin up for a lingering kiss.

There wasn’t hardly anything for him to pack. All of his possessions fit into a canvas bag that was filled in minutes. 

James Perlman poked his head in the front door. “We’d better go ahead and get a move on before he starts to stiffen up.” 

Charlie grabbed Chris up and hugged him tight, “Be back soon,” he muttered into his ear.

“Charlie-” he choked out, and stopped himself. 

He watched the horse until it was completely gone, and stared at the horizon for even longer. 

It was the last time he would see Charlie for four years.

__________

Epilogue

_Charlie never meant to leave Chris for more than those five nights._

_He never would’ve left if he would’ve known. Or at least somehow convinced Chris to leave the farm and come with him. _

_When he arrived in town to collect his reward, James Perlman pulled the sheriff aside and whispered something in his ear. Then Charlie was told that if he was going to collect his reward, he would need to produce the thief's partner. Who was due to come into town that night. _

_Charlie took care of it. _

_Next, they told him he would need to go to Denver to get his money. Charlie knew now that something wasn’t quite right. He asked if he could return to the farm and tell Chris where he was going, but Perlman and the sheriff insisted that he needed to leave right then, that it would only add a few days to his trip. _

_Charlie didn’t understand that Denver wasn’t the next settlement over. It was a two day journey by train. He got his money, finally, but there would be more trouble before it was all over with. See, what Chris never found out about Charlie on their idyllic days on the farm was when Charlie got angry, it never ended well. _

_Letters addressed to “The Fulton Farm” never made it to Chris. But Charlie didn’t know that. By now, he was hundreds of miles away in a town bigger than he’d ever seen, and determined to return with enough money to buy whatever Chris wanted- more oxen, more horses. A whole bookshelf of all his stories. _

_The money that Charlie was making had a steep price. The name that he was making for himself was worth more than any amount of cash he could strap to the inside of his boots._

_About the time that Charlie was making plans to make his way back to the farm, a month and a half after he’d originally left, he caught the attention of the Flyers. _

_Giroux understood him, maybe better than anyone else he’d ever met except for Chris. And after he was done with him, (Charlie never knew if he’d truly escaped or if Giroux had somehow let him,) he was sporting a nasty fresh wound and was missing his picture portrait of Chris. _

_Two more weeks of time had passed. But Giroux had put the fear of God into his heart, and Charlie knew he could never go back to the Fultons. Giroux had already made it clear that if he wanted to know that Chris was alive somewhere, he’d stay far away from him and from the rest of the Flyers. He figured he’d be on the run until he died or until he got to Giroux first. But without Chris, there wasn’t any reason why he shouldn’t use what he felt was his only useful skill. So Charlie started out- helping people where he could, pulling wanted posters off of wooden siding in every town he set foot in, always looking over his shoulder. _

_Mrs. Fulton returned to the farm a month after Charlie left. She was alone._

_Chris didn’t ask her what happened to Mr. Fulton._

_She informed him that she’d sold the farm, and that the new owners would be there to take over within the week. And they were not willing to keep a farmhand. _

_Chris stayed in town for he didn’t know how long waiting for Charlie to return. Word came eventually about some man who was unbeatable in a shootout, in a duel, taken by surprise- some kind of outlaw who’d come out of nowhere. Chris was never sure if they were talking about his Charlie, but he hoped it was just as much as he hoped it wasn’t. _

_Either Charlie had died, or left him and become a gunslinging legend in just a few months. Sometimes he didn’t know which was worse. _

_When he finally left town, he didn’t know where he was going. He could barely keep shoes on his horse. He stopped riding when he met eyes with Sheriff Krug a few towns over, and he asked him what a young man like him was doing out here. Chris replied that he could ask him the same thing. Then Krug offered him a drink. It was the first time someone had been kind to him in a long time. _

_He told Torey everything over half a bottle of whiskey. _

_It was clear that Chris was done running, at least for now. Torey got him set up in an old house towards the edge of that settlement, and helped him get back on his feet. _

_The future was no longer bright and glistening like it once was, but there was a hope that wasn’t there before. He did write to Charlie, every few months or so. He didn’t even know how to address it- he always just guessed. _

_He told him that he’d moved, gone to live with more people like they’d talked about. About how he was right, it was nice. How he missed him, but some days he missed him a little less. And that he was always welcome to come back. _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! 
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr [@fridgefishwrites](https://fridgefishwrites.tumblr.com)


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